


Duty Above Flesh

by lighterdenial



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fingerfucking, Girls Kissing, Hate Sex, I'm garbage idiot trash and I had to write the pool scene, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Pool Scene (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Ritual Sex, The Pool Scene (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Vaginal Fingering, if I write a second part to this it will be enemies to lovers, they're doing it for the ritual but no one is saying no, this is a Harrow Nova AU fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighterdenial/pseuds/lighterdenial
Summary: Harrow Nova has worked her whole life to be good enough to be Gideon Nonagesimus' cavalier because she knows it's her only shot to ever leave the dreary rock of the Ninth House. She resents the Reverend Daughter for her droll attitude and her flippant, devil-may-care behavior. When she is selected and all her hard work pays off, her dreams all within reach, she learns that the final - and most important - part of the cavalier/necromancer bond is sealed with ritual sex. One flesh, one end and all that. Harrow Nova completely fucking hates her necromancer, but not as much as she hates being trapped underground in the Ninth. Can she put the ritual before her open disgust of the necromancer, or are they doomed from the start?
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 22
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

“Get up!” Harrow Nova felt the blanket snatched from her as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. “Your lady requires your service. You’ve been called to muster.” Marshal Crux. Her major tormenter for most of her childhood, just one of the faces she despised in Drearburh. She had spent her entire life training for one single, solitary purpose: to become a fighter good enough to leave. To prove that she had more to offer than a life of penitence, taking vows as a nun. To become the cavalier to the one person she hated more than anything, her ticket out of the Ninth House: Reverend Daughter Gideon Nonagesimus. 

It hadn’t been easy, but she had the grudging half-support of Aiglamene, the ancient captain of the once-great house. Harrow trained for hours on end every day, passing the grueling hours by learning to fight in every style Aiglamene knew. Once she had mastered those, she was brought the chain of Samael Novenary, which she kept close to her at all times. One of the precious relics from the Anastasian, it had been meticulously preserved for ten thousand years. Now it was Harrow’s, and she had no intention of being anything less than the most deserving cavalier. She had to be perfect. 

“And has the Reverend Daughter made a decision yet?” Harrow asked, her voice clear despite the early hour. 

“She is at her morning prayers. You would do well to make yourself presentable.” No explanation there. Crux left. 

Harrow knew in her heart that she was the best choice for cavalier – possibly the only choice in the house. The official cavalier, Ortus Nigenad, was a thirty-year-old man better suited to books, study, and preservation of house lore than fighting. He had hardly touched a rapier, let alone learned to move with it as an extension of his body. Never had a single lesson beaten into him by the Reverend Father or Mother. But he had inherited the title of cavalier primary from his father.

Today, Harrow aimed to take it back. She had petitioned the Reverend Daughter for a chance because of circumstances – Harrow’s youth, her training, her single-minded dedication to becoming the best possible fighter, and her childhood spent in hard service to the Ninth – and, because the Reverend Daughter did not immediately spit in her face and laugh out loud, she hoped she had a chance.

For the first time in generations, the Ninth would be leaving the dark, cold planet. The Emperor Undying, Necrolord Prime, had called the scions of all the houses – and their cavaliers – to a planet to compete for Lyctorhood. Harrow knew little about necromancy, and less still about Lyctorhood, but she knew three things: first, Gideon Nonagesimus was the scion of the house of the Ninth; second, Ortus Nigenad was a sorry excuse for a cavalier fitting the Ninth House; and third, Harrow Nova would be damned if she would be stuck on this rock for one second longer than strictly necessary.

So, she found herself a scant few minutes later, paint perfectly applied to her face, compact frame buried in the thick black robes, kneeling in the cavernous hall with every other surviving member of the Ninth – Ortus and his mother, the great-aunts, and the Reverend Father, Mother, and Daughter as well as the hundred-odd ancient pilgrims and penitents that survived. None under seventy, few under eighty. And Harrow, who against all odds, was alive, in the prime of her life, who was sharp as a tack, who was laser-focused on getting away from the Ninth, even if she had to tether herself to the Reverend Daughter to do it. 

The Reverend Daughter was sprawled across her throne, one leg propped up on the arm, sitting sideways, wearing no paint and awful aviator sunglasses. She had short red hair neatly slicked back, longer on top, shaved close on the sides, and had the usual thin frame of a necromancer, although she seemed larger-than-life due to her massive frame, broad shoulders, and great height. Where Harrow was short, dense, and muscular, the Reverend Daughter Gideon was tall, hollow, and brittle – like a pane of glass stretching across a massive door. Harrow wondered idly if she had used necromancy to enhance her height. She hoped it had hurt, if it did. 

Gideon Nonagesimus wore what Harrow assumed to be a cruel smile on her face and a short roll of parchment in her hand. “As you all know,” she began, “I have been called into the service of the Emperor All-Giving, the Kindly Prince, Lord of the Sharpest Edge,” and here she paused to allow several murmured prayers, “And I have accepted his invitation.” Again, murmured prayers, this time for the Locked Tomb to remain shut, the health of the Reverend Daughter, etc., etc., etc. Nonagesimus adjusted her sunglasses and crossed her legs, grinning as Harrow’s scowl deepened. No respect, Harrow thought. 

“And I have need of a cavalier primary.” Harrow’s pulse quickened. This was it. Would Gideon buck tradition and choose her, or would she follow what was likely the direction of the Reverend Father and Mother, officially making Ortus Nigenad her cavalier primary?

“For that, I have chosen the best and brightest of youth that our house has to offer. There was one obvious choice… much as it pains me to admit.” Her lip curled. “I am formally offering the role of cavalier primary, with all its honors and responsibilities, to Harrow Nova.” 

A hush fell over the Ninth. No reaction from the Reverend Mother and Father. Palpable relief from Ortus Nigenad and his mother, who clutched his hands and began to cry quietly, as she did predictably with almost every emotion. Open disapproval from the great-aunts. 

Harrow had achieved what she had been working towards for almost a decade, as soon as she knew how to work towards something. Every drop of sweat, every backhand from Aiglamene, every time she bled from exhaustion – it had all been worth it. 

She knelt on the cold stone in front of the necromancer’s throne and kissed the hand that was lazily held out to her. “My lady,” she said, eyes burning a hole in the floor. She didn’t dare look up at Gideon. She rarely looked her in the eyes. Even with sunglasses between them, Gideon’s golden eyes caught and trapped her, so she kept her own fixed on the floor. 

“Don’t disappoint me, Nova,” she said quietly, so that no one else could hear. “You know why I chose you.” Her tone was light and easy, but there was an implied threat. She had always held Harrow at arm’s length, except to use her as a necromantic punching bag or, occasionally in childhood, to use her as a scapegoat or whipping girl. The Reverend Mother and Father often punished Harrow for Gideon’s transgressions, leaving scars Harrow did not easily forget. And there were a lot of them since the Reverend Daughter was a natural prankster. 

The rest of the hour passed in a blur. Harrow swore her oaths to Gideon, ending with “One flesh, one end” from both necromancer and new cavalier. Harrow rose to stand behind Gideon’s throne as she had seen Mortus do with the Reverend Mother and Father, years ago when she was a child, hand on the rapier sheathed at her waist. Although she stood like stone, she was rejoicing. It was final. She would leave the Ninth, and God willing, never return. 

Gideon dismissed the muster, but did not release Harrow, and Harrow did not move until they were alone in the cavernous room.

“There’s another part of the cavalier process. To make it official.” Another smile from Gideon. Harrow was not going to like this. What would it be? Torture? Bloodshed? Would there be bone chips inserted under her skin so that Gideon could control her like a puppet? She steeled herself. 

Many times, Harrow had been knocked around by one of Gideon’s skeletons as she grew more talented as an adept, and Harrow as a fighter. She felt confident that she could give Gideon a hell of a run for her money, if not win outright. That is, in a fair fight. But the necromancer rarely played fair. 

“Another part?” she asked. “What’s that?”

“You remember the bit about one flesh, one end, no?” Gideon asked.

“Yes,” Harrow said shortly. 

“Well… there’s no easy way to put this. To complete the cavalier-necromancer relationship… we have to bone.”

“We have to WHAT?” Harrow burst out. 

“We have to have sex.” Gideon smirked. “You know what sex is, right?” 

“I would rather go blind than have sex with you, Nonagesimus,” Harrow spat. “You know that.” 

“It’s out of my hands,” the necromancer said. “You’re not exactly my first choice either.” 

“No, I suppose you’d want something easier. Since everything in your life’s been handed to you.” Harrow recoiled at the thought of fucking Gideon. She was no stranger to masturbation – nights in her cell got cold, and she got lonely, but it had always been a quick, unsatisfying affair. She never once looked at any of the dirty porn rags that the Reverend Daughter often left lying about, sometimes even in full view of Harrow. She had always kept covered. 

“Shut the fuck up,” said Gideon Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter and only necromantic heir to the house of the Ninth. “You don’t know a thing about my life.” 

“I know that all you’ve ever done is make things harder for me. I know that, for whatever reason, instead of leaving me alone, you’ve tormented me for years. And I know that I’ve suffered you for too long to hop into bed with you immediately,” Harrow said. 

“If this weren’t required by tradition and necromantic rituals stretching back thousands of years—”

“Since when do you care about tradition? You’re not even that good of a necromancer. I’m sure I’d be a million times better than you if it had been me,” Harrow snarled. “I’d be a proper necromancer.” 

She had only a second to watch Gideon stand sharply and curl her fingers, building constructs in an instant, sending them right to her, dozens of bony hands cutting into her wrists, arms, and legs, and pinning her flat against the wall. She struggled, but the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of her. 

“Don’t tell me what you think a proper necromancer is,” Gideon snarled. “Do you think any weak-ass necromancer could do this?” Her golden eyes burned. “I have more power in my pinky finger than you could ever hope to wield during your entire life, and if I didn’t need a cavalier who knew what the hell she was doing with a blade, I’d kill you myself.” 

“So, you acknowledge I’m good at something,” Harrow spit a little blood out. “That’s a first.” She tumbled to the ground as Gideon flexed her wrist and the constructs turned back to dust. 

“Two hours. My rooms. Be there, or I’ll have skeletons drag you there by the hair.” She turned on her heel, black robes billowing behind her. Harrow wanted to yell vicious things at her, but instead, she picked herself up, stalked out of the chamber, and went to use the sonic. 

-

Harrow stood at the door to Gideon’s rooms. She considered for a brief minute that she still had time to back out, but ultimately decided that any price was worth paying to get off this cold, dark rock. Even losing her virginity to the person she completely fucking hated. 

She barely had to knock once before Gideon swung open the door using a disembodied hand to reveal the necromancer laid back on her bed, one knee popped, propping herself up on her elbows. Gideon was only wearing a sleeveless turtleneck and shorts, almost knee-length, but tight. Harrow had never seen so much of her body. It was quite warm in her chambers. 

The Reverend Daughter grinned. If Harrow had thought more about it, she would have said it was predatory. 

“Scared, Nova?” She asked. 

“Not on your life, Nonagesimus,” Harrow said, stepping into the room with as much determination as she could muster. “But if you’re going to fuck me with bones, at least make sure they’re clean first.” 

“Who said I’d be fucking you with bones? I’m a flesh magician too, baby.” 

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re coming on to me.” 

“Nova, someone’s going to be coming by the end of the night, and according to the ancient ritual, it’s going to have to be both of us.” 

“Let’s just get this over with.” Harrow shucked her robe and shoes like an onion skin and began yanking at her layers furiously but stopped when Gideon held up a hand. 

“I want to do it,” the necromancer said arrogantly, and swung her long legs off the bed, striding over to her cavalier. In another life, she would have been physically powerful, but in this one, she was intimidating, all big angles filling the room. Harrow curled her hands into fists but didn’t move. 

With surprising tenderness, the necromancer began to unhook each button, sliding the shirt off her shoulders, then knelt to undo her pants, sliding them down her thighs. She laid a hand on Harrow’s thigh, and Harrow flinched, closing her eyes. 

“I want this to be good for you,” Gideon said simply. “I know you hate me, but I want this to be something good.” 

“Then hurry up and make it good,” Harrow said, feeling a little silly, but slightly less angry. She allowed herself to be led to Gideon’s big four-posted bed draped in black fabric and laid back. She expected blows, and she was prepared for her body to be used and discarded like she had been used and discarded in so many childhood spats, or even earlier that day. “Don’t think that it changes anything,” she said weakly. 

Before she knew what had happened, her necromancer kissed her, then moved one long arm up to pin Harrow’s wrists above her head. After a deep, punishing kiss, she moved down to mouth behind Harrow’s jaw and whisper, “You’re mine,” and Harrow felt something small and warm open up deep in her torso. A different kind of warmth than she had ever felt before. She kissed Gideon back, exploring the feeling, trying to ignore who she was with. Gideon’s hand wandered under Harrow’s bandeau, and she tried her hardest not to slap it away until it started feeling good. Gideon caressed her breasts, paying special attention to her nipples, then moving to run her hands across Harrow’s tight, muscular stomach. 

“You must have had a lot of – hah! – time on your hands to learn how to do this. Shirking your studies, maybe?” Harrow teased. 

“While you were studying the blade, I was jerking off,” Gideon commented dryly. “Now shut up and let me fuck you,” she said, pausing to remove her own top and shorts. 

Her skin stretched thin across her breasts, and they were the only spots where she had any fat at all on her body. Gideon Nonagesimus was made up of tight skin and ninety-degree angles. Her ribs were visible – as were most necromancers’ – and her breasts were small in proportion. They were almost swallowed by the width of her shoulders. Like her frame was meant to be for someone different. Her hipbones were prominent, but not drastic, and Harrow found herself following the lines of her necromancer’s body down as far as she was able. 

“Your turn,” Gideon said, gesturing to Harrow’s underwear. 

“I thought you wanted to do it,” she said, crossing her arms, feeling vulnerable.

“I changed my mind,” she rolled her neck back and forth, stretching. “I’d like to see you strip for me.” 

With fumbling hands, Harrow pulled her bandeau over her head and let her breasts spill out. Lean rations meant that she was mostly muscle, also with little fat, but better filled out than the necromancer. She ran her hands through her chin-length black hair in nervousness, tousling it, not sure what to do next until, hesitantly, she ran her hands down her body to catch her thumbs under her underwear and step out of them. Both stood and looked at the other, completely naked. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Gideon said, stepping forward and getting closer. She was several inches taller than Harrow and had to bend to kiss her again, maneuvering her back towards the bed. 

Harrow thought privately that she might like kissing if it weren’t Gideon that she was kissing, so she closed her eyes and put on a brave face. She felt Gideon’s thigh between her own, bony against muscular, and spread her legs. Finding the bed behind her, she sat down, but Gideon put a hand on her shoulders and directed her to lay back. 

Then the necromancer climbed on top of her and started to touch her. And oh, Harrow had never felt anything like this before. Rarely, if ever, did people touch one another in the Ninth House, and the contact felt electric. Almost enough for Harrow to forget where she was and who she was with. Gideon’s hands wandered down past her belly button, touching her hips, running an appreciative hand over her abs again – “You have a great bod, Nova,” which Harrow solidly ignored, and felt between her legs to find a wetness surprising to both of them.

“Why, Nova,” Gideon said, “You’re wet for me!” Before Harrow could give a biting, withering reply, she plunged one long finger into her dripping hole, and all Harrow could do was bite down on her tongue so that she stayed silent. She tried to stay still, flexing her arms and legs to hold her position. 

“None of that, now,” the worst necromancer in the world and chief tormenter of Harrow’s entire life said, with two fingers in her pussy, “I want to hear you.” So obediently Harrow let a whine trickle out of her mouth while Gideon worked them in and out of her. She let her toes curl and spread her legs wider at the hips, knees bending, hands grasping at something to anchor her but instead finding Gideon’s body, and decided that it was good enough.

“Touch me. I want to be getting off too,” Gideon commanded, using her other hand to place one of Harrow’s on her breasts. “I like it a little rough.” Harrow pinched one nipple in response, eliciting a low moan from Gideon. “Touch me like you hate me.”

“I do hate you,” Harrow ground out, though with less conviction than previously. It was hard to hate someone who was really great at finger-fucking. She used her other hand to slide down Gideon’s body, from her breast to her cunt, reaching for her clit. After a little fumbling and some more kissing, they both found a rhythm, Harrow’s thumb working against Gideon’s clit, two of Gideon’s fingers sliding in and out of Harrow, Gideon making these little gasps that, from another person, Harrow would have called cute, Harrow biting her lip and whimpering. God, it was good, and it stung that it was so good because it was Gideon.

Gideon began to move her fingers with more urgency inside Harrow. “Do you think you can take three?” she asked, in between kisses. 

“Whatever – whatever you want,” Harrow stammered, brain short-circuiting. 

“I want to see you stuffed full of my fingers,” said Gideon. “Can you take it for me?” The “for me” caught Harrow off-guard, and she bore down as Gideon pressed a third impossibly long finger into her, catching at her entrance, opening the floodgates to all kinds of feelings that Harrow didn’t know existed, and she cried out as she came – “Gideon!” 

About five seconds after coming, she knew she was never going to live that down. 

“Wow, lucky me,” Gideon said, “expert necromancer and apparent sex goddess. Enough to make my cavalier scream my name when she comes,” she bragged smugly. “Right, Nova?” Harrow closed her eyes and briefly wished she was dead. “My turn,” Gideon said, rolling onto her back. “I want you to eat my pussy.” 

“Since when have you been so bossy?” Harrow complained, pride stinging and pussy throbbing. But she knelt between Gideon’s spread legs, feeling awfully small in comparison even though she knew that in a physical fight she could wipe the floor with her necromancer. She gave a hesitant lick and didn’t absolutely detest it, so she moved to run her tongue over Gideon’s slit. 

“Not like that, harder,” Gideon said. “Use your tongue for something other than complaining about me.” She pushed Harrow’s head in-between her legs, burying it in her bright red bush that she obviously did not bother to shave, and Harrow began to lick and suck in earnest, trying to pay special attention to Gideon’s clit so that she could have her nose free for breathing purposes. It wasn’t very sexy until Gideon started making breathy, hitched little noises, and Harrow figured she was doing something right. 

Then she reached up with her left hand and, stabilizing herself on Gideon’s thigh with her right, pushed a finger into her necromancer. “Don’t stop,” Gideon demanded, keeping pressure on the back of Harrow’s head. “Don’t you dare stop. More. Harder. Another finger.” She gave a few strangled gasps before Harrow felt her clamp down around her fingers – a weird, new, mostly wet feeling – and came hard. 

“I’m not going to cuddle with you,” Harrow said as soon as Gideon had ridden out her orgasm on Harrow’s fingers. “But I am going to use your washroom.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Gideon teased. “Was I not good in bed, babe?”

“You were perfectly adequate,” the embarrassed cavalier said, and turning to pick up her clothes and the rest of her dignity off the floor, she asked “Does this satisfy the requirements of the ritual?” 

“I don’t know, why don’t you come back tomorrow night and find out?” All of Gideon’s old arrogance was coming back and any vulnerability they had shared was fading fast. “I’ll make it better next time.” 

“Not if you were the last woman in the world, Nonagesimus, would I return to your bed,” Harrow spat, and then, fully dressed, let herself into Gideon’s washroom to the sound of the necromancer’s laughter. She looked at herself in the mirror. She had two pink spots high on her cheeks, her hair was hopelessly messy, and her lips were red and swollen. Probably from all the kissing. Ugh, to think that she had – and she had liked it! She cleaned up clinically, detached from her own body, before taking a deep breath and leaving the washroom. 

“I will see you,” she said coldly, “when the shuttle takes off for the First House tomorrow.” Slipping her robe over her shoulders, she left the Reverend Daughter’s rooms without another word, but heard Gideon’s teasing “You’re so cute when I’m giving you an orgasm!” ringing behind her. 

Thankfully, no one saw Harrow as she made her way to her cell and locked the door behind her. Throwing herself face down on her narrow, uncomfortable cot, she grabbed her thin pillow and screamed in anger. But she also couldn’t deny the heat that still remained between her legs, and as angry as she was, she reached down to touch herself and knew that anytime the Reverend Daughter wanted her to warm her bed, Harrow Nova would be right there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update: I wrote a second part because I cannot keep my little hands off of exploring the intersection of cruelty and trauma as it applies to the Reverend Daughter and I also wanted to see what would happen with Reverend Daughter!Gideon and how she internalized and dealt with it differently from how Harrowhark in canon deals with it.

Harrow had never seen so much color in one place in her entire life as at Canaan House. The planet was hot and green and alive, covered in water and earth, and the hardest adjustment for her was Dominicus’ proximity. She tired easily in the heat and made up for it with determined hours in the small gym, often alone, occasionally with the Sixth, Camilla Hect, or the Fourth, Jeannemary Chatur, though they spoke little. Mostly she worked to overcome the disadvantage of the heat and the heavy Ninth robes, which her necromancer had forbidden her from taking off (along with the heavy, unbreathable grease paint, which on the Ninth had served as protection from the biting cold for her skin) and had occasional sparring matches with both the Fourth and the Sixth – at first, all of them maneuvering for victory, then falling into an uneasy training partnership as the weeks wore on. Little was seen of the other houses – the Second clearly had a Cohort history and had little need for them, the Seventh spent most of their time together in their chambers, the Third only made appearances at meals – although Harrow could feel the eyes of the paler twin, Ianthe, follow her – and the Fifth seemed better suited to study than combat. Although she would never say it out loud, Harrow was grateful that Gideon hadn’t imposed a vow of silence on her, though she took care not to cast any dishonor on the Ninth with her words and naturally said little. 

Nights were better; the temperature at Canaan House cooled because of the ten-thousand-year-old stone naturally retaining chill and the low positioning of the Ninth’s rooms. And Harrow, who usually retired after dinner, could carefully wash off her paint and undress down to just shirtsleeves and pants. Then she would have a few hours before Gideon Nonagesimus returned from whatever she had been doing. They rarely saw each other most days, only for the odd meal and, late at night, when Harrow pretended to be asleep, Gideon came into their shared chambers and, smelling like bone, ash, and sulfur, collapsed in a heap to sleep for a few hours before going off to do whatever bone magicians did all day. It was better that way for Harrow, a cold distance between them. It was less painful and less shameful. And if no one noticed that Harrow never met Gideon’s eyes, and no one but she could see a blush rise up over her cheeks under the thick layer of paint when she remembered the necromancer’s fingers moving inside of her? The ideal situation. No one needed to know what Harrow touched herself to at night. 

Late one night she lay flat on her back on her narrow bed and thought about what she would do when this was all over. For the first time in her life, she dared to have a goal beyond “Escape the Ninth.” She could always join the Cohort, and though she was physically more than capable of being a soldier, the life never appealed to her. She could always settle on a far planet and become a homesteader, unaligned with the Houses, not worrying about necromancy ever again. She could become a farmer. God knows she had enough experience coaxing what few pale green things grew out of the nearly barren earth of the Ninth. She could crew on a ship and save up to buy her own. Go anywhere. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with options. Just a few days ago, she had none. 

Harrow luxuriated in being alone but not completely alone, being able to hear the sounds of the wildlife – the wildlife! – at Canaan House, from the small mammals outside to the birds and the bugs. Everything came alive. She felt that she could listen to it for hours. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t get that chance, because Gideon Nonagesimus let herself into their quarters, sweating and bleeding from a large cut on her forehead, and cursing. With hardly a glance at Harrow, she said, “I didn’t think you were still awake.” She was swaying slightly, obviously exhausted. 

“I’m not.” Harrow remained lying on her back, eyes closed. 

“Help me with this,” Gideon said, and dropped the small package wrapped in black cloth on the ground. “I have blood in my eyes.” Harrow sat up, opened her eyes, and in no great hurry (but no small one, either) went to go get a wet rag from the washroom. 

“Sit down before you lose any more blood,” she said shortly. “I need to take your paint off, so it doesn’t get into that nasty cut and give you an infection.” Gideon sat. On Harrow’s bed. 

“Thought you wanted me to die, Nova,” Gideon smiled weakly. Harrow ignored this. 

“What were you doing?” she asked. “Didn’t you bring me to do all your dirty work for you?” 

“Necromancy gone sideways,” Gideon said. “Not cavalier work.”

“And you were unsuccessful?” Half an accusation. 

“None of your business, cavalier,” Gideon said. Harrow finished dabbing the blood out of her eyes and stood to go rinse the rag. “Wait. I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Since when do you apologize to me?” Harrow snapped. Gideon looked very small and very defeated, which was a feat for someone six feet tall and necromantically adept, but she recovered quickly. “Must have just been the blood loss talking,” she quipped. Then she stood, swayed a little, still bleeding, and moved to her own bed, not bothering to even undress. 

“Here,” Harrow said a moment later. “Press this to your forehead.” Another rag, clean and damp. 

“Thanks,” Gideon said, facing away from Harrow. “Wake me in four hours.” 

-

“Am I not your cavalier?” It was pitch black outside. “Have I not proved myself worthy of the title of cavalier primary of the Ninth House?” Harrow stood over Gideon’s bed. 

“Has it been four hours already?” Gideon reached up to feel the blood caked on her forehead. 

“Answer the question, Nonagesimus,” Harrow said. “Am I not supposed to protect my necromancer?” 

“You did prove yourself. Loudly.” 

“So why are you going around getting into fights without your cavalier to fight for you? Isn’t that my job?” 

“Who said I was getting into fights?” 

“Let me do my job, Nonagesimus. The faster you figure out whatever Lyctor test this is, the faster I can get out of here.”

“Oh, so this is about you, now? This is my test, Nova. You’re just along for the ride. I don’t need a cavalier. I don’t need anyone.” 

“You needed me to wake you up this morning. And,” Harrow swallowed. “You needed me pretty badly last week to make you come,” 

“You said it, not me,” Gideon rose from bed. “But if you’re looking for a rematch – “ 

“I’m not,” Harrow said too quickly. 

“Sounds like you were.” A smug silence. Harrow pushed past her with an exasperated sigh and started to dress herself with sharp movements. “Fine, have it your way, Nova,” Gideon said, rolling out of bed and reaching for her clothes. “Come with me today. See what happens.” Harrow smeared on her paint with trembling fingers, but said nothing, and the Reverend Daughter once again eschewed paint for sunglasses.

-

Harrow deeply regretted following Gideon into the bowels of Canaan House. That much was clear as she fought the construct, Nonagesimus screeching at her, blood-sweat dripping down her forehead, “Move, Nova, damn you, watch out, it’s behind you,” raising her own constructs as quickly as they were destroyed to fight the thing that sprung up from the laboratory. Fighting with the thick black chain of Samael Novenary at her left and a wicked hand-and-a-half sword in her right hand, she felt like a machine, trying to kill the thing before it killed her, absorbing more blows than she thought was humanly possible. 

She must have shattered its kneecaps fifteen times, smashed holes in its skull (skulls?), until finally Gideon did something and screamed, angry and visceral, and it disintegrated to bone dust, leaving behind a key. The necromancer practically ran into the room to scoop up the key and hide it somewhere in her robes. 

Harrow fell to her knees. All at once, the pain came back to her, and she noticed that she was bleeding from several places, bruised in most others, and she suspected she might have at least one broken toe. But it was just a toe, so with an effort comparatively greater than fighting the construct-monster, she stood, sheathed her sword, and was knocked off her feet by her giant necromancer steering her towards the nearest wall and kissing her. She didn’t know what to say, so she shut up and let Gideon kiss her.

“My cavalier,” Gideon breathed, sharp teeth nipping at Harrow’s throat, “Do you know what you do to me?” She reached under Harrow’s shirt to twist her nipple, and had it been anyone else, it would have been painful, but instead, she just breathed, “No,” and surrendered. 

Gideon continued. “I can’t stop thinking about your body. Ever since you came – “, this she punctuated with a cruel bite to Harrow’s neck – “under my hands, I’ve wanted to do it again,” 

“Not here,” Harrow started to protest, “Why don’t we go back – “, She feared discovery. Although they were in the bowels of Canaan House, there was always the chance that someone else would stumble on them – or worse, several people. 

“No,” Gideon said. “Now.” She wrapped her lanky arms around Harrow and pressed their faces together. Gideon kissed like a tornado, rarely soft, mostly teeth and tongue halfway down Harrow’s throat. Harrow could taste blood and she wasn’t sure whose it was – the blood-sweat that was rapidly drying at her necromancer’s temples, or her own, either from biting her own tongue or from Gideon. Her whole world narrowed to the bony thigh pressed between her legs, impossibly large hands on her breasts, and she cried out. How was it so easy for the person she hated most to have this effect on her?

“Your turn,” Gideon grinned, and shook her robe open, tearing at her shirt with one hand. Briefly, Harrow thought about how she would be the one painstakingly sewing those buttons back on later, but the thought was chased out of her head by talented necromantic fingers tracing the scars across her chest and heading straight for her breasts. 

Harrow could do nothing but grind herself against Gideon’s thigh and reach up, hands shaking from exhaustion and want, to touch the Reverend Daughter’s great tits. She could see Gideon’s jaw working as Harrow hesitated, brushing the backs of her hands against Gideon’s ribcage, moving farther up to caress the sides of her breasts, avoiding her pale nipples. 

Except for the shock of red hair and golden eyes, Gideon was usually colorless, but because of the exertion, and the blood, and the apparent arousal, a pink flush on her high cheekbones and creeping down her chest. “Don’t be shy, Nova,” she teased. “Not like you haven’t seen it before.” 

“Shut up,” Harrow said, panting, and kissed her again in earnest, working her hands down Gideon’s pants and eliciting a strangled cry, and an “Ugh, that’s good,” when her small hands finally slipped towards Gideon’s clit. Shamelessly, Gideon hiked her legs open and braced against the wall, trapping Harrow. Harrow found that she didn’t have it in herself to care anymore with one hand touching Gideon and one, almost moving without her permission, touching herself. She bit her lip as she rubbed them both together, trying to stay silent but realizing that it was a lost cause because of how loud Gideon was. Almost like she wanted someone to walk in and see the tiny cavalier below her up against the wall. 

Then Gideon moved her free hand to Harrow’s breasts, both of them somehow, and with a smothered little noise, Harrow came harder than any time she’d touched herself. This was better than last time, she thought fleetingly. Unbidden, she wondered how good it would be the next time, then banished the thought. 

Giving her no time to recuperate, Gideon grabbed Harrow’s wrist and pushed her hand further into her cunt, instructing her, “Fingers, now,” and Harrow obeyed, until Gideon came too, hissing “Harrow,” through clenched teeth. Quieter than all the sounds she was making before, almost like it escaped without her permission. 

For a moment, they regarded each other, Harrow slumped against the wall, limp with exhaustion and throbbing from the top of her head to her toes, one of which was definitely broken, and her cunt, clenching around nothing, Gideon, heavy-lidded post-orgasm. 

“I stil hate you,” Harrow said, but with far less conviction than previously. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Sure, Nova,” Gideon said, showing her canines. “Keep telling yourself that.” Harrow rearranged her robes, clutching them tightly around her body. Gideon slipped her own over her shoulders, but didn’t bother to fasten her shirt, showing off a frankly distracting amount of clavicle and collarbone. Harrow went to stand up, but a fresh wave of dizziness came over her and she sank into staticky darkness. 

-

When Harrow woke, she was in Gideon’s bed, which she knew immediately because it was more comfortable and significantly bigger than her own mattress. She immediately checked to see that she had all her parts and that they were in their proper places, because that was a thing that she firmly believed Gideon might try to do with her unconscious body. 

“Relax, I only touch you while you’re awake,” the Reverend Daughter said. “And you’re welcome for carrying you all the way here. And for fixing your toe.”

Harrow noticed that there was a definite lack of pain in the toe she previously thought was broken, which she appreciated. Tentatively, she sat up and stretched. Everything seemed to be in working order. She popped her jaw a few times, then said grudgingly, “Thanks.” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly carry you. I kind of piloted you. Like a little shuttle.” 

“Gross, Nonagesimus,” Harrow felt vaguely uncomfortable at the idea of the necromancer moving her bones to walk her along the corridors and hoped that she had at least not encountered anyone along the way. 

“What? It’s not like I don’t have plenty of experience,” she joked darkly. “Puppeting Mommy and Daddy like—”

“Don’t talk about the Reverend Mother and Father that way,” Harrow burst out. “It’s bad enough, what you did to them, what you continued to do—” 

“You say that like I had a choice,” Gideon spit. “What would you have done, Nova? Called up the Emperor Undying to tell him?”

Harrow had to admit she would have done the same in her place. 

“You don’t know anything about what I had to do, what I had to go through. Don’t think that because you’re hiding behind your duty and your tradition, you’re better than me.” There was venom in her voice, but Gideon seemed very hollow and sad. 

“Thank you for bringing me back here,” Harrow said, getting up from Gideon’s bed and grabbing her sword and chain, heading down to the gym, leaving the necromancer sitting alone. If she had looked back, she would have seen that Gideon was watching her the whole time. 

-

“Nova, you just can’t stop sticking your nose in places where it doesn’t belong,” Gideon snarled, slamming the door behind her. “You should have brought that head to me,” she continued, “and I would have brought it to the Sixth, and we could have figured it out from there. But no, you had to try and solve everything yourself, like you always do.”

“I did what I did because I knew you wouldn’t,” Harrow disagreed. “I don’t think you’d have brought it to the Sixth. I think you see the Sixth as a threat to your precious Lyctorhood. That’s all you care about,” she said, fuming. “I’m trying to save people’s lives and find out the truth so I can get out of here faster and get away from you and every necromancer in all the Nine Houses!” 

Gideon looked genuinely hurt. “Well then, why don’t you just leave? Make it quicker.”

“You know why I can’t leave. One flesh, one end,” Harrow spat. “And I keep my promises.” 

“So do I,” said the Reverend Daughter. “More than you know.” 

“I’m tired of you telling me I don’t know anything. Who worked hard all these years while you piloted your parents’ corpses around? Who sweated, and bled, and took your punishments for you, so that you could goof off and use your necromancy for God knows what selfish ends—”

“Don’t call me selfish. Don’t ever call me selfish. Everything I did – I did for the Ninth,” Gideon said, low in her throat. Then she seized Harrow’s wrist. “It’s time you knew the whole truth about what you think you’re talking about.” 

Moving fast, faster than Harrow had ever seen outside of a fight, Gideon found her way through the maze of Canaan House, deeper into its bowels, with her cavalier stumbling behind her at a half-jog. Neither of them said anything. 

Finally, they came to a large saltwater pool in an empty room. “This is the only way I can tell you everything. When I was a child, this is how I found out what I’m about to tell you now.” She began to peel off her clothes until she was left in just her bandeau and undershorts, Harrow hesitating but then following her. Gideon slipped into the water, barely a splash, until she was in the deepest part of the pool, water at her chin. Harrow sat on the side and took a brief breath before sliding in herself, muscles working to swim out to Gideon then to tread water, their height difference forcing her to float without touching the bottom.

“I was born,” she began, “at the price of the next generation of the house of the Ninth. I’m a graveyard for two hundred dead children. The story that you were told – the creche flu – it’s a lie. Everything my parents did, they did so that I would become a powerful necromancer and secure the future of the Ninth.”

“My parents were running out of time to conceive a necromantic heir, and they thought that placing the future of the Ninth – all two hundred of the young people, in one place – on the altar of tomorrow and pumping toxic gas into the room to kill all of them at the same moment of my conception would create a necromancer for them. And it did, and here I am, but… that was the price. Every day I live knowing that my life was traded for two hundred others, and I... I am not worth it.”

“And the reason they died, the reason they killed themselves – it was me too. Harrow, I – “, she cut off with a dry, choked sob, then composed herself. “I opened the Locked Tomb and saw the body inside. And they knew, they found out, and that’s – that’s the real reason why they killed themselves.” She looked small, and broken, and Harrow’s first impulse was to comfort her, but she continued. 

“And then you came along less than a year later, after, and for a little while, my parents thought that meant we would rebuild the Ninth. That there would be more. But no one ever came. Just two little girls meant to guard a ten-thousand-year-old tomb. I was so stupid, and I couldn’t even keep it locked like I was supposed to. It’s all my fault.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Harrow said, with more tenderness than she knew she possessed. “I’m sorry, Gideon.” 

“You know, it’s funny, even though I hate to say it, you’re right about me. I’m selfish, and I’m over-the-top to cover up my insecurities, I can’t say anything honest without making it into half a joke, and I’m cruel, oh, God, I’ve hurt you so much,” she continued, “and in this whole place, the only person who I can halfway trust is you, who hates me more than anyone else, and all you want to do is get away from me as fast as you can. I don’t blame you. I would too, if I were you. You’ve won, Harrow Nova, my whole stupid life, you’ve won, you fucking won, and I wish you would just go ahead and kill me. You’d make ten times the Reverend Daughter I am.” Harrow had never seen such radical vulnerability from Gideon. “But I – I am undone without you,” Gideon said, with such a burning passion that the only thing Harrow could do was swim to her like a sleek weapon and wrap their bodies together. 

“I only ever wanted to be your friend,” she said, touching her necromancer, running her hands up the sharp shoulder bones on her back, her fingers in the wet red hair, locking her legs around the jutting hipbones. “I’m so sorry.” She tilted their foreheads together. “Gideon.” That was all it took, and Gideon was sobbing openly, saltwater dripping into saltwater, and pressing her mouth to Harrow’s in the gentlest kiss either of them had ever experienced.

“I’m so sorry,” Gideon said. “I’ve been so cruel to you for so long. You didn’t deserve that.” She ran her fingers over the ghosts of pale scars on Harrow’s arms and torso, touching the half-healed cuts from earlier when they defeated the construct. “You deserve better than me.” 

“No,” Harrow said, kissing her again. “I’ve lived my whole life in service to the Ninth. In duty. Trying to be good enough. And the way you look at me – the way you touch me – like I’m something worthy of desire – “

“I’m trying to make a joke about duty and desire, but all I really want is your fingers inside me, Nova,” Gideon said. “Let’s get up – side of the pool – “, Harrow swam over, faster than Gideon could walk in the water, and with a little effort, lifted her necromancer to sit on the edge of the pool, spreading her legs and pulling off her shorts. “Nice guns,” Gideon commented, before threading her fingers carefully in Harrow’s hair and guiding her down between her legs. Harrow had never been touched so sweetly. She thought she could burst from the intensity of Gideon’s golden eyes on her, but instead, she got to work eating her necromancer’s pussy. 

“Fuck, right there,” Gideon gasped as Harrow put her tongue inside her. “God, Nova, your mouth, where did you learn this,” 

“Not from you,” Harrow said before reaching a finger up to tease at Gideon’s vulva gently. “Can I put my fingers inside you?” 

“Please,” Gideon said, “I need you in me like, yesterday.” 

“My lady,” Harrow said, lowering her head to suck on Gideon’s clit and slide two fingers inside her at once, crooking them up to press into Gideon’s walls, and the necromancer keened in a way Harrow had never heard. She worked her index and middle finger in and out slowly, wanting to make it last, wanting to make it good as an apology for years and years of hating each other and terrible things. 

“If we had just – hah! – done this earlier, we would have been better for it,” Gideon said, cocking her hips to get Harrow’s fingers deeper in her cunt. “Another,” she pleaded. “More, please, I’m getting close,” she reached up to touch her own breasts, cupping below them, rolling her nipples with her long, pale fingers until they were the same red flush as her dripping cunt. “God, I’m – I’m going to come – Harrow!” She clamped down with both thighs around Harrow’s head and shook, legs splashing in the water, orgasm half-taking Harrow by surprise too. 

Panting, she released her cavalier and reached for her with weak arms, and Harrow pulled herself up out of the water into a sweet, soft kiss as Gideon put her arms around her, clasping her close, then reaching into Harrow’s thoroughly soaked shorts. “May I?” 

“Yes,” Harrow breathed. “Any time you like,” and Gideon put her thumb over Harrow’s clit until the pressure built and built. “Say my name again,” she urged. “Say my name,” 

“Harrow,” Gideon whispered into her ear, kissing down her jaw. “My cavalier, Harrow, such a good girl,” and Harrow came, trying not to think too hard about why she came when Gideon Nonagesimus called her a good girl. 

“Mmm,” Gideon said as Harrow relaxed into her chest. “Was that good?” Harrow rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t think this absolves you of everything you’ve ever done to me, Nonagesimus. We still have a lot of score to even,” she said, but leaned up to kiss the necromancer on the nose anyway. 

“I know,” Gideon said, deep sadness in her eyes, “But if you let me, I can try.” She was holding on to Harrow’s hand hungrily, as if Harrow was going to turn on her and say, “Just kidding, bitch!”, but she never did. 

Harrow suddenly became aware that they were on a very wet, cold, concrete slab, and caught Gideon’s hand, standing. “You can start by taking me to bed,” she said, “and we’ll talk about the rest later.” She grabbed the rough Ninth House robes from the ground where they were discarded and wrapped one around Gideon’s shoulders, then her own. “Before we catch our death of cold.” Gideon followed, unused to being shown any kindness. 

Both were grateful that the corridors of Canaan House were abandoned as they walked slowly, half-leaning on each other, dripping saltwater down behind them, trading occasional kisses, back to the chambers of the Ninth to sleep in a warm bed holding one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really digging the concept that trauma can cause cruelty, especially extreme cruelty in situations like this, and what happens when the situation changes, so this is set at Canaan House, and I wrote an abbreviated pool scene because I am a glutton for punishment.   
> I also think it's important to at least indicate a little that sharing trauma in the pool scene doesn't absolve Gideon of anything she did, but that an apology and being honest is a start. I kind of went dark with it but I really wanted to do a little bit of a hopeful ending. I hope you like it!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I really love writing oneshots but I'm also working on a little bit of a bigger piece and because I love writing AU's it's a vampire hunter AU with Catholic vaampire hunter!Harrowhark and vampire!Gideon as well as Ianthe Tridentarius being a total pill and the leader of a powerful nest of vampires. Featuring also the Fifth and Sixth as vampire hunters and idk, probably gonna get kinda weird with it. 
> 
> also kinda feeling a second chapter to this, although it stands alone as-is, if there's interest on account of I would just really like to write enemies to lovers


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